


for you, my queen

by CapyWritesShit



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Campaign 05: A Crown of Candy, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Gen, Unrequited Love, did i write it anyways? absolutely, is this a study of a character that doesnt have a canon personality? yes, set during ep9 Safe Harbor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26005840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapyWritesShit/pseuds/CapyWritesShit
Summary: Sir Amanda Maillard has a choice to make, and it's never been easier to hurt herself for the sake of her queen.
Relationships: Amanda Maillard/Caramelinda Rocks (one-sided)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	for you, my queen

When Lord Calroy tells her that the time has come, Amanda immediately feels the nausea creep up her throat and settle in her mouth like a disease. She's known since the beginning that this would happen, that her loyalties to House Cruller would come first when the war bells chimed and Candia fell, but—she still desperately wants to throw up.

It's been years since Lord Calroy approached her, all whispers and sharp smiles and water steel daggers pressed against her back, a quiet threat that screamed in her ears. It's been years since he got her an in as a knight of the royal family, years since Queen Caramelinda named her the Queen's Champion, years since he took her aside and spoke of coups and assassinations and the fall of House Rocks. It's been years, and yet, with each breath she takes and each step she makes she wishes it could've taken longer.

The soldiers of Muffinfield seem to have multiplied tenfold in the past five hours, preparing for a battle they know they are to win, and for every Ceresian that salutes her as she passes Amanda feels her dread grow. Three soldiers are chatting and laughing by a door that Amanda recognizes as leading to Sir Toby's quarters, and when she spares a passing glance inside she has to pause.

Sir Toby is dead, gored in the most disrespectful way, his body contorted unnaturally and butchered without an ounce of dignity left. The Muffinfield soldiers jump to attention the moment she approaches, their laughter petering out and their smiles fading. Amanda looks once more at the sight inside the quarters, and it's as if something in her chest ignites, a flame that has long since died down.

"And on whose order did you carry out the death of Sir Toby?" she snaps, knowing it certainly wasn't _her_ orders, and she commands the Muffinfield troops for the most part. One soldier glances at his friends nervously, before turning his gaze forward and saluting stiffly. He doesn't meet her eyes, but he looks confident.

"Lord Calroy Cruller's orders, sir."

A tower sways, her control over her soldiers crumbling the slightest bit under the weight of her commander. She, of course, answers only to Lord Calroy, and if it was his order to kill Sir Toby, then of course it was to be done. Still, flicking her eyes over the bloodied corpse of the gummy bear leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. Surely Lord Calroy didn't order such a—well, gruesome death, for lack of a better term.

Lord Calroy moves almost exclusively in the shadows. Working for him for upwards of fifteen years has given Amanda incredible insight to his inner workings, and she knows that, without a doubt, he would've wanted a far quieter execution for the knight.

And Amanda has never been good at holding her tongue, especially in times of personal unrest, and so she speaks her thoughts to the soldiers. "Lord Cruller would not have ordered you to maul the man in such an obvious display of violence. Are you asking for us to be caught before the time has arrived for us to strike, soldier?"

The man stiffens considerably under Amanda's scrutiny, until the woman to his side speaks up, eyes forward and mouth set into a thin line. "He didn't specify the means by which to dispose of him, sir. We did what we felt was right at the time."

"What you felt was right," Amanda repeats back, the dread curling and licking at her insides. This isn't super bad, a mistake that can be remedied, but she doesn't like the way it sets off alarms in her head. This isn't just any death, this is the death of Sir Toby, second in command to Commander of the Tart Guard Sir Theobald. If news gets out of his death before Lord Calroy has time to kill the king and queen, then the entirety of House Cruller may very well fall. She scowls. "Next time, ask for specification, or otherwise do not take such decisions into your hands."

With a final nod, Amanda takes off, almost as if she's trying to escape the dark feeling settled in her skull and crackling along her muscles. The Muffinfield soldiers are loyal to House Cruller, so loyal they take more pleasure in the murder of Candians than Amanda has seen in anyone before. War is on the horizon, she thinks as she strides through the halls of the castle, working to find the queen as quickly as possible. It is fast approaching and the Ceresians are out for blood.

Her job is to kill Queen Caramelinda before she can escape, because the queen has always been sharper than anyone else in the castle and the moment the siege begins she will be the first one out the door if she hasn't been indisposed. Amanda watches the moon high in the sky as the lights in the tents across the front lines of Castle Candy blink on, troops readying to muster. Lord Calroy should be with the king right about now, keeping him isolated from his allies so the assassination goes smoothly later.

If all is right, Senator Ciabatta is in the lingerie shop, waiting for the princesses arrival in the dead of night. Sir Theobald should be retiring to his quarters soon, and if the Muffinfield soldiers are doing their jobs, he will soon be taken off the board as a player, stuck in waiting with the corpse of his friend as his only company.

Thinking hard about the horror of it all puts a nasty feeling in Amanda's stomach, so she works to think less. Thought isn't necessary for this next part. All they've been doing, for years upon years now, has been thinking. Biding their time, switching plans on a dime, watching and waiting and _thinking_. Now is the time to put all thoughts aside and _act_ , carry out what they've been planning all this time. Amanda will not allow herself to get caught up in her own mind mere minutes before the other shoe finally drops.

Intimately, in the way that permeates all conscious thought and slinks through the back of her mind, ever present and prodding, Amanda knows the part she plays in this is huge. She knows that, without her unwavering loyalty to House Cruller, and her extreme proximity to Queen Caramelinda, this plan would not be able to work the way it will. Amanda is a major cog in the machine that is the rise of House Cruller, and she _knows_ this, in the back of her mind, amidst the click of her boots against the floor and the crackle of the lanterns lighting her path.

She does not like to acknowledge it, though. Believing she is simply a pawn in a game played by power-hungry fools is much easier, makes her job much nicer, keeps her conscience much cleaner. There are many who play the game of personality, but Amanda is not one of them, and so she marches along and salutes the Ceresians and silences the roar in her head.

Queen Caramelinda is in her private quarters, the ones that are specifically not King Amethar's, hunched over her desk and furiously writing something Amanda can't make out. Her hair is down, her cheeks are red, her eyes are puffy and her hands are trembling. These are the qualities that stand out to Amanda as she approaches, immediately clocking the queen's quiet sniffling and noticeably shaking breaths.

Amanda should not notice these things about her queen, and yet she does. Amanda should not feel the intense urge to comfort her queen, reassure her about any troubles she may have, wipe her tears away and rub her back until the strife is gone from her beautiful face, and yet she does. Amanda should not love her queen, and yet she does.

For all her faults, for all her lost patience and lack of self control and need to speak her mind, Amanda is capable of doing the impossible around her queen—she holds her tongue and drops to one knee.

Queen Caramelinda startles, just barely, but enough that Amanda notices. She stops writing, and the tremor of her hands is far more intense than Amanda first thought, and as quick as that enters her mind it is forcibly ejected just as fast. She should not care, she should not care, _she does not care_.

"Oh, Sir Maillard. How may I help you this evening?" Her voice is steady, in the forced way it is when she's under copious amounts of stress, which—that checks out, as her husband has just returned with news of a marriage before their own and a war on the way and Amanda can only imagine that her night is about to get so worse. A pang of guilt pulses through her heart but it's easy to ignore.

"Your Majesty, the troops along the Cola River are mustered and have set up defenses, just as you ordered," she reports diligently, an easy excuse to visit her queen in the dead of night. At the tired nod she gets, she assumes the queen has come to the same conclusion. There's nothing suspicious about the Queen's Champion visiting her personal chambers to give a status report.

"Yes, of course. Thank you Sir Maillard. You are dismissed."

The words are clipped, but there's an undercurrent of relief and the queen's shoulders visibly relax. If she were not here with a purpose, Amanda would find the sight rewarding, her queen finding comfort in her words. Queen Caramelinda turns her head back to her desk, resuming her writing with ease, as if she never even stopped. Amanda supposes that's what it takes to be a ruler, having the composure to continue business even in times of extreme emotional strife, but that's frankly none of her concern.

She sets her hand on the hilt of her spear, the warmth bubbling under her palm, proving the most solace Amanda has had all day. Since the moment the castle flames were lit and Lord Calroy found her, a rushed affirmation to play her part and play it well spoken in hushed whispers as they passed in the hall, she's been on edge. Her spear, her weapon as Champion, is a mild relief in the whirlwind of thoughts that are trying to push their ways into her mind.

"Sir Maillard, you've been dismissed." Queen Caramelinda's voice breaks through, shaky and high-strung and agitated and wet with tears that are not for her. She is dismissing Amanda so that she may cry in the privacy of her quarters, away from her family and her subjects and her kingdom, and Amanda can hear the strain she has to uphold in order to keep her voice level, and the tremor has become near violent now and Amanda—

Queen Caramelinda turns to face her, blue eyes shining with tears in the moonlight.

—lets go of her spear. The warmth disappears, comfort stolen from her blood-soaked hands. The queen has just given her an order, though one that remains unspoken.

 _Leave me here to cry_.

And so, as the Queen's Champion is to do, she obeys.

Amanda stands from her kneel, face set like the candy stones that hold together the castle walls, and turns on her heel to exit the queen's chambers. Her House Cruller cape sways behind her with each step she takes, a testament to her betrayal, though to whom she does not know.

There are many things that Amanda Maillard is, and one of them is deeply, _desperately_ in love. She will die for this, she knows, but she thinks it may be worth it. It is her job, after all, to sacrifice all she has for the safety of her queen.

"You Majesty," She turns her head once she reaches the door, hand on the knob, three seconds from ending her life, "The princesses have not yet eaten their supper, and they are not in their rooms. Sir Theobald may still be with them."

She waits, _one, two, three_ seconds, before Queen Caramelinda sighs. The sound of her chocolate wood chair scraping against the floorboards creates goosebumps on Amanda's arms, grating in her ears and sealing her fate, a final church bell for the fallen Queen's Champion.

"Thank you, Sir Maillard. I will go search for them." Amanda hears her queen's light footsteps, practiced grace, come up behind her, and opens the door for Queen Caramelinda to walk through. She pauses in the doorway, giving Amanda a once-over, and nods solemnly. "You're a good Champion."

Her death sentence, spoken from the mouth of the one she was sent to kill. Amanda smiles, breezily and light, and bows her head. "Thank you, my queen."

The light clicking of the queen's night slippers fades. With each click, Amanda can feel a knife on her back, against her throat, in her heart, piercing again and again and again for doing the one thing she's been trained not to do. She does not move, for she is paralyzed, though not by the water steel dagger Lord Calroy keeps in his boot at all times.

No, she is paralyzed by the need for her final moments to be peaceful, away from the fighting that is bound to be going on around the castle by now. The queen's quarters smell of caramel with the faintest trace of blue raspberry and the arcane.

Time is stuck in this one spot, flowing around her and leaving her to rot and turn to dust, alone. She does not regret her choice, and if given the chance she would repeat it over and over again, choosing her queen every time. Sir Amanda Maillard knows who she serves.

The queen is smart, quick, cunning. She will escape, Amanda knows she will, and with Sir Theobald at her side she will not go down. Amanda has saved her life, even if just for another day.

 _And that is enough_ , she thinks as she sees Lord Calroy round the corner, smile sinister and free. The way he approaches, airily and loose, tips Amanda off. King Amethar has been killed, his final title stripped by his most trustworthy confident. When Lord Calroy catches sight of her, of her suspiciously clean clothes and weapon, the smile slips right off his face. Something dangerous enters his expression, and Amanda concedes to her fate.

 _It is enough. It is enough. It is enough. For you, my queen, it is enough_.

**Author's Note:**

> i pumped this out IMMEDIATELY after i watched the acoc bts because i became instantly obsessed with amanda maillard
> 
> thank you so much for reading!
> 
> [tumblr](https://theswirlersisterscircus.tumblr.com)


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